Family Recipes
by Beanpot
Summary: Cam, a recipe, and a grandmother. Tag to Line in the Sand.Slight CamSam


**Family Recipes**

Cam stood in his cramped kitchen, thumbing through well worn, color-coded index cards. He sighed to himself, rechecked the files then reached for his cell phone and held down the 2. 

"It isn't Wednesday, my sunshine. Is everything alright, hon?" his Gran'ma asked. Even before his father installed caller id, she always seemed to know which one of her grandkids was calling her. Cam heard the sound of a hand being placed over the receiver as his Gran'ma yelled out, "Hush, Ladies, it's Cameron! Say hello, dear." 

Cam glanced at his watch and realized it was 7:30 on a Tuesday night; sewing circle night. Or more appropriately, the night the grand dames of the town congregated for mint juleps, sherry, and lemon tarts to gossip and plan the future. The men-folk avoided these nights like the plague, spending them ensconced on bar stools, but Cam had always loved them. He was petted, fed, and learned the finer arts of diplomacy while listening to the grand dames tell increasingly dirty stories laced with genteel euphemisms. 

"Even'ng, ladies," he responded, knowing full well she was holding the phone out for their benefit. He could see Miss Carol at the piano bench playing old hymns while Miss Lorraine snuck a tart into her purse. Miss Sally organizing the yarn just so as Miss Myrtle poured alcohol from her fun flask into the lemonade. The routine had rarely varied for decades, with only the names changing as some went on and new ladies were invited in. It was, without question, the greatest honor to be invited to Mrs. Frances Mitchell's house for sewing night. "Gran'ma, I can't seem to find the macaroon recipe in the recipe box. Any chance you can tell it to me over the phone?"

"You want my macaroon recipe?" Even from a time zone or two away, Cam heard the dead silence that fell over his Gran'ma parlor. "Bless my soul, Cam wants the macaroon recipe," her voice was laced with surprise and glee and Cam realized his blunder. 

The Mitchell macaroon recipe was the family secret, never, ever handed out. It was probably never in Gran'ma's recipe box on purpose. The first time he helped make them was when he was sent to stay with her while his daddy recovered from the crash. He had stood on a chair, an apron wrapped around his waist twice and hands covered in sticky coconut. Gran'ma's voice washed over him as she told stories of how she had made these for his Grandpa back during the Good War. Met him at a USO dance, she in her WAC uniform and he in his Army Air Force uniform and it was love at first sight. They had exchanged letters for months, but she always swore it was the cookies that made him propose. 

Stories of how when his daddy was courting his mama, it was the chocolate macaroons that made her loop an arm through his and never look back. And that was why they were making them now, to show his daddy how much they loved him. They spent all summer baking and shipping the cookies. When it was Cam's turn to be in the hospital, boxes of macaroons and other cookies showed up in his room from cousins, aunts, uncles, and Gran'ma. The recipe equaled love in his family, and asking for it to share with someone was akin to announcing you were going courting. 

Now he was asking for the recipe himself. "It's for a friend, Gran'ma. Sam's in the infirmary and I reckon the cookies will help."

"Sam. Well, of course you can have it, sunshine," she replied. 

"It's Sam, Gran'ma. Samantha Carter."

A long pause followed on the other end. A decade ago, while he was on a two-week furlough, he had met Gran'ma in DC. After the tour of the White House (she had a bizarre fascination with their table settings Cam would never understand), they had run into Sam with Jonas Hanson and agreed to lunch to catch up. By the end of the meal, Gran'ma had used the phrase "bless your heart" 25 times and patted Hanson on the cheek as they walked out. Hanson left assuming he had made a grand impression, Cam knew it was code for "If I ever see you in my town, I will run you over with my Buick and still have time to put on Sunday dinner, you evil little snake". 

"You'll need three cups of shredded coconut, don't buy the toasted stuff. And then some Dutch baking chocolate, you keep that on hand, don't you Cameron?"

Cam grabbed a pen and started scribbling the recipe down, taking notes of the tricks she had learned over the years. Use an ice cream scoop or your hands, don't open the oven all the time so they can brown evenly, sometimes it's best just to dip them in melted chocolate vs. adding the powdered chocolate. As they wrapped up the phone call, she admonished him to give Sam her best and to make sure he wore clean socks. Her standard way of saying goodbye, I love you, stay safe.

The next night, he called her again at their normal time, a tradition since his days at the Academy and he kept it whenever he was on Earth. She answered the phone on the first ring, demanding Sam's reaction the cookies. He sheepishly grinned and said, "I don't think Sam likes coconut, Gran'ma."

On her porch, Frances tapped her fingers on the rocking chair arm. Strange someone not liking macaroons, but then again, Sam wasn't from the South. It was an honest mistake. But if her favorite grandchild had asked for the recipe, Sam was something special. Time for Plan B. "How does she feel about lemon tarts?"


End file.
